Crying Shame

We never knew they was coming until it was too late.1982 was when they came. We had always just minded our business quietly and contently.​Every month or so a new tenant would join us. Not near me, ‘course. Robert Dalton was to my left and little Timmy Johnson on my right. He was only thirteen-years-old. Crying shame, I always say. But it happens and there is nothing we could do about it.​

Timmy’s mom visited about once a week. Often she left treats for him. Always made me wonder why. She knew he couldn’t have them.Timmy was there before me. I came almost a month later. That’s how it always is. One tenant a month. Crying shame.Now, I know ya’ll are asking how I know this. I’d damn well tell you to respect your elders. But, it’s been hard being by myself, so I’ll forgive you for your misgivings, youngin'.I wasn’t completely alone, I’ll have ya know. Herbert came and visited everyday when I first got here. After about a week, he moved in. Then Elle and Thomas and Kathryn and all their relative came. ‘Two’s a party, three’s a crowd’ my ma always used to say. Bless her soul. Obviously, she ain’t here no more.The more they came, the lonelier I felt. ‘Cause they was dancing and eating and drinking and I wasn’t. I was just laying there. Lonely as can be. Eventually they drifted off as they got bored here. No more to drink, I fear. One day I cried out for Herbert and he was gone too.Sometimes I think I hear him. But it’s just my old imagination running wild. One part of me that’ll never leave. ‘magination that is. But I don’t need Herbert and he don’t need me. He was only using me anyhow. They all was.I don’t always mind it here though. Wish I had a new Herbert. But all his kind just get up and leave after a while. Nomads, seems they be. But I guess it ain’t that bad here. Back in Rivertown is where I used to be. I was there long before the river dried up. That’s when all those damn kids moved in. With their crack-cocaine and drugs and booze and rap music and all that other stuff these yougins do today. Started having their parties with those stereos and loud rap music. The kids on drugs always ripped stuff up, spray painted my house something terrible, and left obscene words everywhere. Crying shame.So I don’t really mind it here. Everyone just minds themselves all quiet. Sometimes I feel it’s too quiet though, ‘specially during the day. Night ain’t too bad with all those owls and squirrels and lizards and crickets and all. Sometimes it’s louder though. Even here, thunder is thunder. And when those kids start riding by with their damn motorbikes squealing tires, sinners all of them. Crying shame it is.1982 was when they came here. The kids had always left us alone. They minded their elders and even little Timmy Johnson and his little whimpers. They had always stayed far away.I felt them coming before I heard them. That’s how it is here: you feel before you hear. ‘Course, I don’t expect ya’ll to understand now, but it’s how it is. And I’ll tell ya’ll again and again, but that’s just how it is. But them sinners came in whispers one night. The probably feared being caught. But with the squirrels and owls , I didn’t hear them until they was close. Too close, if ya ask me.People had come before at night, normally left after just a look. ‘Cept the perverts who did what those nasty kids do these days. It’s a crying shame! ‘Cause they’re sinners, all of them. Not believing in our savior and our God. Expecting redemption for their dirty minds and selfish antics. Those sinners burn in Hell, spending eternity without sleep, never going to Heaven, and living with bugs in their sorry graves.Those kids who came stayed longer than the others before. They sat down like they was having a picnic! They lit some candles (the smelly kind that gives me hives something terrible) and started chanting and playing with that board game. They stayed really quiet, thinking we didn’t hear them. But we did. Oh yes, we did.It started with Timmy. He couldn’t take it and he began to cry. First it was so quiet that Robert Dalton on my left probably didn’t even hear ‘im. Then he got louder and, I ain’t lying, Robert joined on in himself! They was whooping and hollering and those sinners still didn’t stop! Going in the ground those sinners are. I know ya’ll are good, ya’ll will go to Heaven if ya’ll stay good. If not, you’ll be in Hell, sitting in the ground with those damn bugs.Anyway, those sinners stopped chanting when they heard Tiffany Bollen join them. They was getting louder and louder. Finally, I felt Timmy moving. It wasn’t small, it was big movements, and I know them sinners heard it too. They went running, leaving their candles lit and that Ouija board they were playing with.Don’t know what these kids these days are doing playing with the occult. Think they can come in and raise the dead. Probably want to raise some more sinners if you ask me. Too bad there ain’t no sinners ‘round here. No sir.That batch of kids started a horde. They was coming every other night to hear Timmy cry. Too bad they ain’t doing it right, ‘cause I didn’t hear a peep out of him the whole time they was here. Not sure why they came back to hear Timmy cry. I heard him cry all the time, wasn’t anything I wanted to come here for. But they came steadily for almost three months, every night, running around.​Finally, they stopped, but there was someone else there. Probably a policeman, watching the site. Making sure those damn kids didn’t come and try to raise the dead some more. Thinking that there are sinners here. No sinners around these parts, let me tell you. So don’t you go after them neither. ‘Cause they’re all sinners, if you ask me. Crying shame.